The Hot Chocolate Chronicle

Hello Dennis.

Now, before you simply delete the email, rest assured this isn’t going to be like the famous Joel Horner Rant of ’06 condemning the ability to embrace our human rights, to use as many bags in a cup as we want in a cup of pre heated water.

Far from it my friend, this is simply a request on behalf of my brethren that we may enjoy the cocoa goodness (at least as close as one gets in a paper pouch) true flavor that only regular or perhaps deluxe brands of individually packaged, instant Hot Chocolate mix can provide. Not a simulated, artificial, genetically enhanced sugar by product  disguised as healthy by the self-endorsed label of “Light” on the paper pouch.

I say simply, by shear evidence that there are 2 boxes of light and zero boxes of regular, delicious, creamy Hot chocolate boxes in the Tiki lounge and that flavor wins and the masses have spoken with clear conviction.

Let us rejoice and say No to “LIGHT”  Give me regular or give me death. (not to be taken literally)

So, ah yeah,

Can we get some more regular hot chocolate please.

The Quintessential Backpeddler - Part 2

Ray jerked awake to the sound of the ocean and spray of water. It was already dark and the harbor lights were reflecting on the ocean surface.

He recognized the harbor from years before, a place he always wanted to be in but for one reason or another….. Slowly turning to the left his eyes followed the sea wall around the edge of the water. The dark line of the Lions Gate bridge arched across the skyline in the din.

“What the hell?” He could hear his voice but spoke to no one inparticular. “This is impossible”. But before he was able to finish his thought another person spoke from behind him.

“’Bout time you woke up.”

Ray tried to whirl around but his legs gave out from under him and he tumbled to the grass and had to grit his teeth to fight off the pain now engulfing his body.

“Youv’e been standing there for about 6 hours now said the boy. I thought you might be dead or something but I could hear you muttering something.

Ray was trying to listen, trying to regain his strength… “What?,, whadda mean muttering. Muttering what?”

“No idea,  it was too low and I didn’t want to get too close.” Said the boy.

I had to go home for supper, and so my Mom wouldn’t worry but got back here as fast as I could. Here I brought you something to eat.

“Thanks kid, let me just get into a comfortable position.” Is this Stanley Park?

Of course, where else would it be.

… “Rock, black rock, did you see it?

Yeah, right there by your feet. It was glowing all afternoon, then slowly faded to a solid colour.

Ray’s mind was racing, trying to piece together everything. “What day is it? He asked the boy trying to sound calm.

June 16, why?

Oh, just foggy that’s all shrugging his shoulders, but inside he was screaming. He was on his way to Turkestan on the 17^th.

What the F^*%.  Sorry kid, that’s the first time I’ve cursed since I… but he trailed off. The image of her face and soft red hair as she slept rushed up to him. For the first time he was more worried about her that how he was able to travel 10,000 kms, a day before.

So it seems

So it seems there was this girl, not a goddess but not a floor mop either. She was, well she was, let’s just leave it at that. But the thing about her that made her special was just that very un-unique thing. She was like the rest of us, simply average, in her space and doing what she wanted. Don’t get me wrong, she had to work. I mean who doesn’t right? Every day she would take the subway from her house to the office where she worked. On the way to the subway she would walk the 12 or so blocks down a section of the city that was in and of itself an enigma. A small street off a busy confluance of traffic and people that seldom sees either. It is lined on both sides by mature maple trees. I’m talking 100 years if they are a day. This time of year the leaves where brilliant shades of yellow, gold and copper. The everyday reminders of a street that is but a shadow length away from the corner Starbucks is covered in those leaves.
It happened to be raining the day our young lady was walking through this particular part of the city, on her particular portion of route to the subway, leaves cascading down and covering the street and everything making her forget, if only for a few minutes that life is more than just paper cups and plastic bags. Life, if we look for it is there, always there. She bent down to pick up a leaf that had just fallen in front of her and as she did there was a loud bang, then the sound of shattered glass.
The morning was quite cool and on this particular morning our young lady was wearing a hat. A pink hat to be precise that was knitted by her mother years ago. It reminded her of a time long ago, a time when running through the leaves was the best feeling in the world. It made her sad to think…. She looked now at the hat as it lay on the ground at her feet where she was reaching for it and noticed a small red dot that had stained the bottom lip of the hat. As she stared at the dot, trying to figure out why it was there and why her hat was on the ground another red dot appeared on the pavement directly at her left foot, then another and another faster and faster like a leak on a faucet.
She looked up with her eyes to see people running out of the house across the street. She tried to stand up but something was keeping her from moving. There was a set of feet beside hers now. Then another pair, what funny shoes, she thought to herself.” They look like slippers but also like shoes….and just like that she puked on them. Down the persons leg, into the cuff of the shoe and over the front. She wanted to say sorry, “that isn’t like me, I don’t know why… then blackness.
There was no fear, there was no more time to reflect or take in the autumn colours or feel the rain on her face. No heat, no cold just a slow fade to nothing.
She closed her eyes and let the person take up her weight and lower her to the ground.  “Get a pillow” she heard someone say but that was the last thing she heard.
Just one of those things, however you want to rationalize it. In the wrong place and wrong time, her number was up, God called her home if you believe in that sort of thing. If she had forgotten something that made her be there at that precise time you might think something like that, on the other hand say she forgot something and it made her 5 min later… could that have meant someone else or no one at all. And you would say, wow were you ever lucky, if you hadn’t forgotton your .. whatever.. that could be you.
Her sister, my girlfriend at the time stood over the casket at the church and tried to rationalize it but there was just no way. What was there to say, what can you say to help someone that just lost a person they love.  After all these years, I still don’t know what to say, except you are missed.

Colours

Of all things painted red and white
a place in time,
all good things
you give me life.
Of all of Life painted white and red
a time and place
in my heart
alone and dead.
Nov 5 2011

A View from Above

I grew up on the shore of Lake Ontario, the son of James and Betty that immigrated from Scotland, Aberdeenshire. My first home was in Etobicoke, ON. where I lived until my 4th year. Tommy Mackentyre was my best friend, I remember he fell off our front porch and had to be rushed to the hospital. He came back with a cast on his right arm. Years later, I would go back to visit and see my room exactly as it was when I was 4. The same wall paper on the walls my Mom and dad put up for me, cowboys and indians. Wow. Sadly we lost touch with each other but last I heard he became a priest. Wow, talk about ying and yang. From there we moved to Oakville where I would spend the next 13 years. A life time when your young. I managed to spend 2 days in Kindergarten before we left. Oddly my stongest memory was staying one night with my Aunt while my parents set up the new home. I was crying and apparently annoyed the hell out of my Aunt enough for her to come in and tell me to be quiet and go to bed. It took me years to get over the feeling she didn’t like me.
I should mention that I was born with Jaundice, extreme enough that I needed a complete blood transfusion. Apparently I almost died which may or may not be true. certainly there are a host of possible side effects that would have change life as I know it.
My next visit to the hospital was still before we moved, I had a double hernia operation. “Count down from 10, 9, 8, 7 …. I was out. But not for long, I remember waking up during the operation and I could feel them cutting, it didn’t hurt but it they moved pretty fast to put me out again. I would pull my stiches out a week before they were due to come out… back to the Drs again.
to be continued.

Sniff!

Angela sat in a chair in the middle of the room, she’d been crying, there were streaks well defined on each side as the dirt was washed away. She didn’t like crying, at least not in front of others but in this case her Husband, Donald was not just anyone, he had seen worse. Drips of mucus hung from the tip of her nose making the situation that much more perverse to her. She wanted take up her hands in the worst way, cover her face in them and run away. But she couldn’t. All she could do was sit there, in the middle of the room in one of the children’s chairs.
A familiar whistle announced that the kettle started to boil, soon there would be tea. God help her, please god, only tea. Not the neti pot, please god not the neti pot.
 ”You’ve been crying my dear, and you’re all stuffed up. I have something that is going to help you. Be right back, don’t go anywhere.” Charles turned and disappeared into the kitchen. She could hear him pulling down the little glass pot off the top shelf and she started to sob.
“I remember back in school, I had a terrible habit with my nose”, he said. A compulsion actually. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this story. I remember a time in math class, it was hot and no one was really paying attention to the teacher. My face was sweaty, in part from the heat of the on coming summer weather but also in part from a promise I was trying to keep to my Mother. You see my nose had plugged up and I was having trouble breathing. Much like your situation now I might say. Anyway, I must continue while we wait for the medicine to dilute.
Where was I? Oh yes, math class. Well, it came to a point where I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled up my pencil and discretely brought it up to my nose, gently inserted it, a spiral twist down and out and I had removed a gelatinous mound of soft tissue. I had to hold it up to the light, a smile traced my lips in anticipation. Mmmm, oh my,.. it tasted wonderful you can’t imagine. ah..mm. Charles was standing in the doorway with neti pot in hand but he had his eyes closed, the gentle trail of memory lingering. Trouble is I wasn’t the only one there. There was one that watched me the whole time. Jealous I imagine, he wanted what I had. But instead he told all his friends and they hated me after that. I was always being picked on and life was never the same. NEVER!
He came back to the present and leaned forward, beginning a slow careful stroll towards her. They had been married a long time, a long time.
“This should fix you up right as rain my dear.”
She began to whimper as she struggled to loosen her bound hands. They were tied to her feet and would have been much more uncomfortable had she been in a larger sized chair. As it was, the child’s plastic chair was a concious thought of Charles. It would allow him to tilt her head back and use the neti pot.
The medicine Charles referred to was actually caustic soda, to which he had added to the bleach he had filled the kettle with. The water was just off boiling by a couple degrees.
Charles was not a small man, he grabbed his wife’s chin and with relative ease pushed her head back rotating her face up to the ceiling. “Just relax.  shhh… and as he poured she began to scream.

The Quintessential backpeddaler

There was nothing out of the norm when Ray set out that morning for the bike shop. Quintessential backpeddal was the name he had finally decided on.
He smiled too himself with the name he had chosen.It was a way of keeping his past close by,like the breeze that swirled the present around him.There was no rush today, like yesterday or the day before,when he got there ,he got there.
The little Red haired girl had made him his favorite lunch.Baloney on rye.Ray smiled too himself.She had left the night before for Turkestan,He had used his best Rickshaw for the ride to the airport.The Hurricane strength head winds had slowed Rays progress through the high pass area.But when he turned to see if her comfort was compromised ,the vision of her tossing a Trillion rose petals comforted his concern.

Ray strolled along ,strolling had become a meditation.One with the stroll was what Ray liked too call it .Although this day would be like all others there was one thing that was different.
Laying in the bushes was something he hadn't noticed yesterday,and perhaps that was because it wasn't there.Or was. But..... didn't notice him .It was a small black Obelisk stone,the shape was that of a lopsided spear.Ray looked about ...no all the stones had this shape.Yet it was ,different.

I looked about, nothing had changed .I could hear the ocean, see the palm trees swaying .People where going about their business .the huts were still painted the same colors .I could feel the energy from the stone,although I couldn't grasp its meaning.As I reached out to pick it up ,I felt a Rift reach out .A Rift from deep within my emotions.It was a stone ,this much my senses agreed.The surface was solid ,strong,unbreakable.Yet......It breathed,no, like blood coursing through veins! Below the surface it.....   

Quiet Reflection

Tick, tick, tick, tick...
Ruby kept her eyes pressed closed, she could imagine what time it must be but refused to look. It was still dark, that much she could tell but it was little compensation. She had been listening to the clock for what felt like ages. Possibly she could have dosed off without realizing but then again.
Haaaaaah... an almost imperceptible sound of air being released was mixed blessing. It came with a hellish stench that made her throat open, triggering her gag reflex. Ruby pulled the pillow out from under her head and covered her mouth and nose with it. Breathing in through the material helped, not much but it helped.
16 days, 22 hours and what..13 minutes. It was only a guess really but give or take an hour she was probably pretty close. 16 days, 22 hours, 13 minutes. That's how long it took for a perfectly healthy body to disintegrate. A life time’s worth of flesh and blood, bone and muscle to shrink and break down.
She reached over and felt the bony shoulder, choking back tears as she pressed the pillow into her face to keep quiet, keep strong, and let him sleep. Grief strikes swiftly and shows no pity when the one you love for a lifetime is dying. She heard the familiar creak of the hardwood in the hallway. Someone was up and moving around. If she heard the TV, it would be Doug, if she smelled coffee it was Charlie.
Her two boys had come home to help and be there, to say goodbye of course and help her settle. It wasn't going to be easy but it had to be done. She could smell coffee now and realized sleep was now long past. As she pulled herself out of bed she thought she could hear tiny voices. The voices of little ones laughing as they prepared cereal and toast for a special breakfast in bed. She hated breakfast in bed as a rule, but loved that they tried.
She smiled at the memory and moved quietly towards the door, she would let him rest for as long as he could. The morphine was doing its job for now. She closed the door behind her, leaving it open just a crack so she could hear and shuffled down the hallway to the kitchen and hugged her son.
to be cont.

Who are you Again?

I was just re reading notes from the Vinyl Cafe today, in particular a story about a particular bookstore in Victoria that Stuart McLean has a particular fondness for. The owner, a friend has a picture hanging in his office of a group of friends on a boat that had been taken many years before. To be precise the picture is of the bookstore's proprietor and his friends wife and son and their son's friend. The son's friend happened to be the one and only Bill Gates when he was just a boy. To work backwards in my abbreviated version of this tale, (cause I really think you should buy the book written by Stuart McLean as it has some great stories of life and love). I digress.
To work backwards, I was thinking about a phrase coined by Andy Warhol " In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes."  Everyone knows of Bill Gates, well maybe not everyone but he is without argument world famous and has had more than his 15 Min's.
The Owner of the sail boat, Marvin Evans and his wife, Mary are named in Stuarts Story thus arguably through at least the telling of the story by Mr. McLean are world famous by that alone as I'm sure Stuart himself must be.
Jim Munro, owner of the bookstore in Victoria (although not known to myself other than through this story) would count as the same. I would also put forward that in a vibrant and touristy city such as Victoria is, that it would have its share of world travelers. Many of those travelers I imagine have entered the store and probably met and taken with them stories of Jim and his bookstore along with the printed kind.
That leaves the son of Marvin and Mary Evans. That's where it ends. I have no idea who he is and neither did Stuart or apparently Jim Munro as he told the story to Stuart. All we know for sure is that he was mentioned almost as a mere prop to get to the meat of the story that as a young boy he had brought a friend (Bill Gates) along on the sailing trip. Also that he spent more time talking of computers down below rather than living the moment and experiencing the trip and its surroundings.
So what about his 15 minutes I wonder? I thought, what if that was me Stuart was speaking of. What if I was Samuel or Adam or Frank Evans or whatever the hell his name is. What if this was his only chance at 15 minutes of fame, at least through proxy of a story in Stuart McLean’s notebook. Would I be shouting at the book, hey it's me. Robert, I was the kid.. why am I being left out?
Then I thought, oh well, that's life isn't it. Maybe the 15 minutes we are given is more like a Frank Capra story. Where our hero is not the center stage type but world famous no less in other more regular day to day events.
It brought me back to my own time spent in Victoria with my son Jesse. A time I'll truly cherish for my history. While we were there, a lady on a motorized cart made a sweeping turn far too fast on a short but steep curve up to the counter of a parking lot ice cream stand. She tipped over and crashed to the pavement. She ended up breaking her collar bone and I learned her son and daughter were both in other cities. I stayed with her until the ambulance arrived and tried to comfort her as best I could. Who knows, maybe that story went home with visitors from other cities in other countries certainly her children I hope.....that is world famous in a way of thinking.
Then I thought that more importantly to me, that the act itself was shared with my son and all the other moments of that trip and a lifetime of memories with him are worth more to me than any 15 minutes could ever give

Darkness

The day started the same, toast, juice, coffee. A read of the morning paper, CBC on the radio just finishing up the news.
Ready to start the day as always but a shooting pain passes behind his eye as he stands. He stumbles as he reaches for the table with one hand while the other impulsively pushes into the eye socket but it's too late. He falls over on the floor and has to lay there until the pain subsides. It does but after a very long time. He pulls his hand away to find blood on it. Not sure if this is from his nose or the eye itself he moves toward the bathroom to look in the mirror and wash.
Just a nose bleed. Well small miracle. He feels the same but a haze clouds his senses.
Time to work he thinks, can't put this off any more. He bundles up to match the -15° temperatures, boots, coat, hat, gloves and heads out the door. There was a fresh snow last night, this will make it easy.
He starts the car and heads down his side street, left onto maple ave and then right onto the township road that leads to the crown land past the Shell plant. Here the road ends and trails begin. On warmer days this area is full of outdoor enthusiasts. Not at this temperature though. He parks the SUV and locks the door, more out of habit than anything else. He takes a deep breath and begins to walk.
45 minutes later he finds the tree he marked the day before and smiles as he sees the frayed rope that hangs around the trunk. He can see a few areas to the west where the snow was lifted up, fresh snow covers the ground but in the trees it isn't heavy enough to cover up completely.
He starts out, finding tell-tale signs here and there then abruptly changes to distinguishable drag marks and tiny spots of blood appear. Happy with the progress he relaxes a bit, and takes a second to breath in the pine scented air. "I Love this place" he says out loud. He reaches into his pocket and unwraps a new Olfa knife carefully placing the garbage into his pocket. He is wearing rubber gloves underneath a brand new pair of wool gloves.  Within minutes he has reached him. He calls his name, "Bill!"
Bill had been crawling all night after he managed to gnaw the twine into two pieces and escape from the tree. He still had his coat on but his pants were shredded and his hobbled legs were exposed and frozen solid now.
"Where you going Bill?” Shall we finish?"
He walks up alongside and reaching down, grabs his hair baring his throat.
Bill just stares straight ahead.
He extends the razor sharp blade and slices up and around.
Bill eyes remain open but everything is now in darkness.

The Girl in the Mirror

There was a yelp and a growl that came sharply from the living room. 

“Now what?!” said Mary, I’m never going to get this place ready for the party.  Just as she was leaving the kitchen the dog came crashing through the hall and slammed into Mary Waters sending the plate of appetizers out of her hands and all over the floor “Alison!” shouted her mother,  “This has been going on all day, enough- is- enough- it- is- time- for- you- to- get- to- bed.”

Alison knew that when each word was its own sentence then she had reached the point of no return. Yielding, she sighed and shuffled off the bathroom kicking some chicken wings just as Mary was reaching to pick them up. She didn’t look at her but Alison knew Mary’s face would be red as a beet.. and she smiled to herself.

“Gary!” Shouted Mary. She was still kneeling in the hall, feverishly trying to clean up.

 “Gary I need some help with your daughter.”

That’s right thought Alison, his daughter, not yours as she pulled out her toothbrush and paste and started to brush. An average Friday night, dinner party for a bunch of people that no one really knew, her Dad escaping down the basement while things were being prepared, Alison pushing Mary to the edge and 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, SMASH! There goes the appetizer plate, pretty basic really.

“I can’t take it anymore Gary, she is like this all the time” she hates me and frankly I can’t take it anymore.

Alison peaked out the door and went back to brushing. As she turned her head she caught a movement in the mirror. She thought it was the cat but there was no one else in the room.

There was a full length mirror that hung on the door and the medicine cabinet above the sink. Something was in the reflection that wasn’t in the room. A piece of red material, just a portion was visible like it would be in a normal reflection, just outside the frame of the glass. But this was different because it was lying on a hardwood floor. She was standing on tile. She leaned onto the vanity and close to the mirror. A dark shadow swept over the ceiling behind her and she lost her footing slipping back into the door. Alison’s breathing became shallow and she was just about to call for her father when a shadow reached out through the tall mirror and pulled Alison back into it. The toothbrush hit the floor and bounced in behind the garbage can.

To be cont.